Uncle William snorted by way of comment.
‘Well, apparently Miss Pye started talkin’ about some telephone messages she’d had from Sutane and Konrad repeated her words. May not be accurate, of course. Still, tell you for what it’s worth. The little twip says she said “Darlin”’ – she used to talk like that, it means nothin’ – “darlin’, don’t be a fool. Your wife has asked me down and I’m comin’.” The next thing Konrad heard – and he must have sat there with his ears flappin’ – was Sutane sayin’, “I don’t want you down there, Chloe. I’ve done all I’m going to do and I won’t have you in my house”.’
Uncle William paused, drank deeply, and blew his nose.
‘Monstrous thing this listenin’ and repeatin’, bandyin’ words to and fro, probably all wrong,’ he rumbled unhappily. ‘But this next bit is interestin’ if true. Konrad says that Chloe Pye – and what a hussy, Campion, forcin’ herself on a feller when told point-blank she wasn’t wanted! No hintin’, mind you; told point-blank – Konrad says that Chloe Pye said, “How are you goin’ to stop me, my lamb?” and Sutane replied straight from the shoulder, like the dear feller he is, “I don’t know. But if you try to break up my home I’ll stop you, if I have to strangle you”.’
He sat back in his chair and surveyed Campion with unblinking eyes.
‘The cat’s out of the bag,’ he said. ‘I’ve repeated the story. Felt I ought to. Mind you, may be all a pack of lies. Still, it’s a funny tale to invent and Jimmy told me himself that he didn’t want the woman here, but she froze on to Linda one day behind the scenes and the unsuspectin’ girl parted up with an invitation. What I feel is, Campion, it’s not the sort of gossip for Konrad to go round repeatin’, is it? That’s why I couldn’t find it in my heart to blame Eve.’
‘Eve?’ enquired Mr Campion, temporarily out of his depth.
Uncle William’s pink face darkened.
‘Was comin’ to her,’ he mumbled. ‘She was just outside that window over there sittin’ in a deck-chair. Overheard Konrad talkin’ to me. More listenin’.’
‘Did she say anything?’
‘The scene I referred to took place,’ said Uncle William briefly. ‘I left ’em. Seemed best. When people are hurlin’ abuse there’s always the chance of one of ’em confusin’ the issue and thinkin’ you’ve said somethin’ yourself. I came away.’
They sat in silence for some minutes. It was cool and dark in the small north room. Outside the garden was sparkling in the afternoon sun.
Mr Campion considered Benny Konrad.
‘I’ve heard several references to a “rally”,’ he said. ‘What’s that?’
‘Konrad’s Speedo Club.’ Uncle William spoke contemptuously. ‘One of these publicity notions these fellers have to get up to. You ought to have heard of it, Campion. The feller’s the high priest of the bicycle. Ludicrous sort of idea.’
Dim recollections of press paragraphs floated into Mr Campion’s mind. Uncle William prompted him.
‘Konrad had a very successful dance act some years ago with a bicycle and lent his name to some sort of advertising stunt which was illustrated. Pictures of him everywhere with a certain firm’s machine. One thing led to another as these things do, and a club was formed with Konrad as president. He presents prizes and attends races in France. That sort of thing. There was quite a large membership once, I believe, composed of a lot of enthusiastic young fellers who used to come and see him act and applaud. The trouble is he’s not good. Can’t carry a show alone. After his failure in Wheels Within Wheels he was lookin’ for a shop, as we call it, and was devilish glad to take Sutane’s understudy with a couple of unimportant numbers in my show, The Buffer. However, he still works hard at his publicity. This rally is the important day in the club’s year. It’s a small body now but very enthusiastic. They see him as the hero of their hobby, a sort of prince – poor misguided souls.’
He leant forward and placed a stubby forefinger on Campion’s knee.
‘Konrad’s the sort of chap who’s got all the paraphernalia for success except the essential talent,’ he said earnestly. ‘He’s like a feller in a fine tail-coat without the chest to fill it out.’
‘What do they do at this rally?’ Campion was still interested.
‘Ride from a pub in London to a pub in Essex, and finish at a pub somewhere else for a meal and speeches. Takes place next Sunday week.’
Uncle William poured himself another drink.
‘I’m goin’ to have a brief nap. These are stirrin’ times. Think about what I’ve told you, Campion. Jimmy’s a good feller. Can’t have him covered with contumely, especially from the mouth of a little tick. Think it over, my boy.’
Campion rose to his feet.
‘I will,’ he promised and his lean face was thoughtful.
He had a very clear recollection of Sutane’s appearance at the window on the evening before and his subsequent behaviour at the scene of the accident, and an uncomfortable doubt assailed him.
Leaving Uncle William reposing in an arm-chair, his short legs crossed at the ankles and his face composed for philosophical contemplation, Campion went out into the vast hall on whose stone squares the sunlight laid long shimmering fingers from the front door. The house was placid and quiet in the drowsy afternoon.
He remained looking out into the garden for some minutes and did not hear Linda come down until her foot touched the stone behind him. She looked white and tired, and the angle of her jaw seemed sharper and smaller than he had noticed it before.
‘She’s asleep,’ she said. ‘Poor darlings! They look like a coloured plate in a Christmas supplement. Rufe is a good little chap. He woke when I moved but he didn’t stir. He’s very fond of her.’
‘And how’s Nurse?’ inquired Mr Campion.
She laughed and her eyes met his. Campion looked away from her and across the lawn to the trees beyond.
‘We’d better use both rooms for tea,’ she said. ‘There’ll be a lot of us.’
He followed her into the drawing-room unwillingly and helped her to roll back the folding doors which separated it from the breakfast-room.
‘They’re bringing Mrs Pole back with them, and her son.’ Linda sounded weary. ‘She’s Chloe Pye’s sister-in-law. Her husband is abroad and she’s the nearest relative available. She seems very much upset.’ She sighed and he glanced at her.
‘Difficult?’
‘I’m rather afraid she may be. She kept me on the phone for nearly three-quarters of an hour this morning. It’s ghastly, isn’t it? I can’t feel it’s a death somehow. It’s a filthy thing to say, but it’s more like a new production.’
She accepted the cigarette he offered her and sat down in the window, while he remained standing before her.
‘If you had some sleep now it would be a good thing,’ he said, feeling slightly silly. ‘I mean you’ve had a tremendous strain in the last twenty-four hours, this business and the child.’
She looked up and surprised him by her expression.
‘I did care about the child,’ she said. ‘I do love her. I’m not careless. I do do all I can. I’d let her go, even, if I thought she’d be all right. But she’s so young, so terribly young. Poor, poor baby.’
She glanced out of the window. She was not crying but her mouth was not perfectly controlled. In her need she was disarming and he forgot the suffocating and novel self-consciousness which she had begun to engender in him.
‘That’s quite obvious, you know,’ he said gently.
‘Is it?’
‘I think so.’
She smiled at him in a grateful, watery fashion which unaccountably turned his heart over, reminding him inconsequentially and therefore irritatingly of its exact position in his body.
‘I couldn’t get to see the doctor because of Mrs Pole,’ she explained earnestly. ‘There’s such a lot of that sort of thing. I haven’t got any definite work but I never seem to be able to be on hand at the right moment. It seems absurd to talk about the
house, with an army of servants, but in a place like this, with crowds of people rushing in and out perpetually, all of them without warning, there’s a lot of managing to be done. Servants don’t expect to have to think, you know. If you can give them a curriculum they can carry it out, but when you can’t you’ve got to think for each of them whenever thought is required. And anyway they’re alternatively overworked and bored stiff. Then there are little odd things like arrangements, trains to be met and people to entertain when the others aren’t actually needing them. I don’t neglect Sarah, honestly I don’t. I’m with her every spare second I have. I’m not much good, though. It’s so difficult to get your mind to work like a child’s and if it doesn’t the child’s either bored or puzzled. She’s so lonely.’
She paused for breath and, catching sight of his face, seemed to remember for the first time that he was a comparative stranger.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said with a certain youthful stiffness. ‘I’ve been so exasperated all day because I couldn’t see Doctor Bouverie about Sarah. It was all so ridiculously unjust that it’s been rankling and you were about so I threw it all at your head. I’m so sorry.’
Campion sought in his mind for some suitable rejoinder at once graceful and pacifying. It did not present itself to him, however, and instead he made the observation uppermost in his mind, stating it baldly and without art.
‘You’re lonely yourself, aren’t you?’ he said.
The girl shot him a single comprehending glance.
‘You’re clever,’ she said. ‘Much cleverer than I thought. That sounds rude. I don’t mean it to be. Eve and Mercer should be back soon. It’s awfully good of her to drive him about.’
He accepted her clumsy change in the conversation politely and watched her profile against the window. She went on, talking a trifle hurriedly.
‘They went in to Birley to get some music manuscript paper. No one in the world but Mercer would insist that he wanted manuscript paper at a time like this. Nothing ruffles him. His man was out, so I’m afraid Eve was forced into offering to drive him. He doesn’t touch the car himself. They’ll all be back soon. It will be an accident verdict, won’t it? Sock said you’d fixed everything.’
‘I did nothing,’ said Campion, rather too truthfully, he thought. ‘But yes, I think it’ll be accident.’
Linda nodded. ‘Why should she take her life?’ she said. ‘Poor girl! I thought she seemed so pleased with herself. And she was very much en grande tenue. It seems so extraordinary.’
‘En grande tenue?’
She looked a little embarrassed.
‘In full regalia, sexually speaking,’ she said. ‘Sort of energy people put on, or put out rather, when they’re hunting. You know what I mean. Some people do it subconsciously the whole time and some just adopt it when they have someone particularly in mind. It’s one of those things you notice instinctively.’
Mr Campion raised his eyebrows.
‘Chloe Pye was in full regalia, was she?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ Her quiet voice was thoughtful. ‘I wondered whom she was interested in. Sock, I imagined. Lots of women like Sock very much. He looks as if he could do with cherishing. Not exactly dirty; unbrushed, if you see what I mean.’
Campion grinned.
‘That would hardly do for Chloe Pye, would it?’ he suggested.
‘I don’t know.’ Linda eyed him gravely. ‘I only met her once before she came down here. I was alone in Jimmy’s dressing-room one day last week and Sock brought her in to see me. She said she’d like a week-end in the country and I offered her a tentative invitation which she seized. Jimmy was rather upset when he heard of it and wanted me to put her off, but I didn’t like to because it would have been so rude. I wish to God I had.’
She paused. ‘Perhaps it was an accident,’ she said at last, but her voice carried no conviction. ‘It’s all very horrible and frightening.’
‘Frightening?’
She looked up at him and he caught a fleeting expression in her eyes which jolted him.
‘I talk too much to you,’ she said. ‘It’s a gift of yours, making people talk, because you understand what they say, you know.’
Campion sat down.
‘I’m quite trustworthy,’ he said briefly. ‘Why are you afraid?’
She hesitated and suddenly turned to him.
‘Have you ever had rats in the house?’ she demanded unexpectedly. ‘If you get mice they’re just a nuisance, like flies or too many old magazines, but once you get rats you’re aware of an evil, unseen intelligence which is working against you in your house. It’s an inexplicable feeling if you haven’t experienced it, but if you have you’ll know what I mean. It’s the “enemies about” sensation. That’s what I’ve got now. There was something wrong about that woman’s death, and it came on top of a lot of wrong things.’
She remained looking up at him, curled up on the window seat. Her gold skin was warm against the dark satin of her dress and her small face was alive and intelligent. She was chic, compact, very much a definite person, and it dawned upon Campion that he was in love with her and that he would never again be completely comfortable in her presence.
She was quite right about the situation at White Walls. There were enemies about, and if he deserted her now it would be a desertion indeed. He did not take his eyes from her face but he ceased to see her. The discovery he had just made was not an overwhelmingly astonishing one, for it had been knocking at the door of his mind ever since he had first seen her. He found it shocking, however, not because she was Sutane’s wife and Sarah’s mother, and therefore not for his pursuing, but because a phenomenon which he had hitherto believed to be more than half an old wives’ tale had been at last revealed to him as a fact instead of a fashion. He knew that he had come down to White Walls in a normal state of mind, and yet within an hour an outside force had conquered and possessed him.
‘You’re looking at me as though I’d done something blasphemous,’ said Linda Sutane.
Campion stiffened as though she had boxed his ears. Presently he grinned at her. His eyes were dancing and the long creases down his cheeks had deepened. He looked suddenly very much younger and very much alive.
‘Fair comment,’ he said lightly, and added, ‘the cruellest observation you could possibly have made.’
She stared at him curiously for a moment and he saw a certain timidity creep into her expression which delighted and invigorated him even while it appalled him.
Linda shook her head, an involuntary childish gesture to shake away a thought.
‘Perhaps it’s all imagination,’ she said.
‘Perhaps it is,’ he agreed. ‘Whatever it is I’ll see it through.’
She put out her hand.
‘I don’t think it is,’ she said. ‘Do you?’
He got up and walked aimlessly down the room.
‘No,’ he said, looking down at the empty fireplace. ‘I know damn well it isn’t.’
Hughes startled them both and looked a little bewildered himself when he came in an instant afterwards.
‘Mrs Paul Geodrake, Madam,’ he murmured. ‘I told her you were out, but she caught sight of you through the window. She told me to tell you she was sure you would spare her a moment. She’s in the dining-room. I had no other place to take her.’ He glanced reproachfully at the open double doors.
‘Who is she? Do we know her?’ Linda seemed surprised.
Hughes sank his voice confidentially.
‘She lives in the Old House on the lower road, Madam. You were out when she called originally and so was she when you returned cards.’
Linda drew back.
‘I can’t see her now, because the others will be here at any moment.’
‘Her husband’s father, old Mr Geodrake, was friendly with your late uncle, Ma’am.’ Hughes seemed hurt. ‘She said only for a moment. She’s a rather determined lady.’
Linda capitulated and he went off satisfied.
Mrs Paul
Geodrake came into the room as if it were a fortress she had stormed. She was a fresh-faced, red-haired woman in the mid thirties, smartly if not tastefully dressed, and possessed of a voice of power and unpleasantness unequalled by anything else Campion had ever heard. It occurred to him at once that the fashion for well-dressed stridence was out of date. Also he wished that she were less determinedly vivacious.
She swooped upon Linda, her hand outstretched.
‘I had to come,’ she said, her bright intelligent eyes fixed searchingly on the other woman’s face. ‘I’ve been sitting at home thinking of you and I suddenly made up my mind to run up and tell you you’re not to worry. After all, we’re next-door neighbours, aren’t we?’
Linda looked at her blankly. A lesser soul would have been silenced by that expression of frank bewilderment, but Mrs Geodrake was of stern stuff. She looked at her small hostess with a compassion that was not altogether untinged with satisfaction.
‘You poor child,’ she said. ‘It’s been frightful for you, of course. The village is full of it. They get things so exaggerated, don’t they? And they will talk.’
Linda said nothing. She had not spoken since her visitor’s arrival and Mrs Geodrake, taking pity on her gaucherie, helped her out.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’ she said, dropping her voice a tone or so and eyeing Campion with a frankly appraising air which he found disconcerting.
Linda performed the ceremony politely and Mrs Geodrake repeated the name, doubtless committing it carefully to memory.
‘Not your husband?’ she said, and shot an arch twinkle at the other woman.
‘No,’ said Linda.
‘He’s at the inquest, of course,’ said Mrs Geodrake, aware of but not in the least disconcerted by the absence of conversational support. ‘My dear, do you know old Pleyell, the Coroner? A perfect sweetie. Awfully stiff, of course, but quite a darling. You’ll love him. He’ll see you through and do the decent thing. Frightfully unfortunate for you – only your second year here. Whom did you have? Doctor Bouverie, wasn’t it? Such a charming old character, isn’t he? How is your little girl? I heard in the village a dog bit her. Children never ought to have dogs. They’re so frightfully cruel to them, don’t you think? I’m dying to have a borzoi, but my husband doesn’t like them. Do you have to obey your husband, Mrs Sutane? I cut the word out of our marriage service, but it hasn’t made any difference.’
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